


Lucifer

by romanticalgirl



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred is wearing Sirius Black's clothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucifer

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://mistress-mab.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mistress-mab.livejournal.com/)**mistress_mab** who wanted dark!Fred. This may be more than she bargained for, but knowing her, it's so not. And, you know, summertime. When all naughty boys thoughts turn to ~~love~~ arson.
> 
> Originally posted 8-4-05

Hermione glanced up at the darkened sky as she wrapped her arms around her waist. It was growing later than she liked, later than it should be, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep until everyone was safely inside the house.

She glanced behind her at the window, the distant fire filtering through the glass and giving it a haunted look as it flickered. She knew George was sitting beside the fire, no doubt nearly spilling the drink clutched loosely in his hand. It wasn’t as bad for him – he waited until Molly and Arthur had gone to bed before digging out the bottle and pouring himself drink after drink. He always woke when the glass hit the floor and dragged the entire way to his bed to pass out until morning.

Fred, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care that he was killing his mother slowly. He was gone at first light and came home well into the dark, covered in smoke and soot and smelling of cheap liquor and, occasionally, cheaper women. The lines on his face belied his almost 19 years, and something dark had replaced the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

She nodded without looking back at Harry. She knew Ron was already in bed, refusing – as always – to see there was something wrong. His family hit too close, and with Bill’s scarred features to remind them, he couldn’t see that Fred and George were no longer the practical pranksters. Their business was still open, still functioning though several products had disappeared off the shelves, recalled and disposed of in the dead of night.

The door shut behind him and she shivered, rubbing her hands over her arms. She watched the stars and clouds shifting, her ears tuned to distant sounds. The sharp crack brought her head back down. He stood there for a long moment and she surveyed him, noting all the physical changes. He no longer held himself up with pride, but curled in slightly, his shoulders hunched. His hair had grown longer and shaggier and his eyes seemed dead. He lifted his eyes to hers and stared at her defiantly, refusing to move.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my guardian angel.”

“I doubt I’m that, Fred Weasley.”

“If that is who I am.” He walked closer, his eyes still on hers. “Perhaps I’m someone else entirely.” He closed in on her, advancing up the porch steps. “How would you know, sweet Hermione? What tricky question have you devised for me? What satin words will fall off your lips to trip me up and tangle me in my own trap?”

“It’s late.” Her voice quivered and she straightened, refusing to give in as he moved even closer, invading the small amount of space between them. “I should get to bed.”

“Yes,” he purred, the smell of Firewhiskey and smoke emanating from his robe, his breath. “You should get to bed. Hair in disarray, clothes all rumpled, skirt pushed up, knickers around your ankles, like a halo holding your legs together.” He crowded her, forced her to step back until she was against the door. “Sweet, little Hermione.” His hands landed on either side of her head and he leaned in, his breath sickly sweet against her skin, her lips. “Give us a taste of that heavenly mouth.”

The door opened and she stumbled back, colliding hard with George. He caught her and righted her, his eyes on his brother. He didn’t look away from Fred as he put Hermione away from him. “Off to bed, love.” The words were barely slurred, but she could see the amber liquid just painting the bottom of the bottle. “A separate bed, I think, than the one Fred had in mind.”

“None of your business, George.”

“No. It’s not.” They continued to stare at each other. “But then, business is what got us to this, isn’t it?”

Fred snarled at his twin, turning the fierce mockery of a smile on Hermione. “Night, pet.” He blew her a kiss. “Sweet dreams.”

**

McGonagall had confronted them about the cupboard and, in a silence that did more than any detention ever could have, she punished them mightily for Montague’s six day entrapment. Tears she attempted to hide glistened in her eyes as she shook her head, unable to look at either of them. They’d walked back to Hogsmeade in silence, ignoring the dark whispers that followed them, the barely spoken accusations that their store had been fronted by Death Eaters, by Lucius Malfoy, by Voldemort himself. Their prosperity was forgotten as suddenly they were wearing clothes paid for by Dumbledore’s death, that they were traitors.

Rumors had swirled as the details had been spread. Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes had seen a sharp drop in clientele as both Fred and George were pulled in for questioning by the Ministry as well as taken aside by Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt to find out if they were who they claimed, if they had been under an Imperious or if they were just daft enough to sell something potentially dangerous to Draco Malfoy or one of his minions.

They’d both staunchly denied everything, indignant and wounded all at once. It eventually came out that someone else under an Imperious had purchased the powders and potions Draco had needed, but the taint stained them and Dumbledore’s blood seemed on their hands.

The shop had remained open, though it only took one of the twins to run it, and they’d quickly let the help they’d so desperately needed go. No new products bubbled in the cauldrons of their testing room, and products disappeared off the shelf before they went bad – the irony not escaping either twin.

George had started drinking the night of the funeral. Fred had stayed in his room until nearly dawn then disappeared. Smoke and fire had roiled off his clothes when he’d returned home at nearly noon, and the papers had been filled the next day with a mysterious fire in Knockturn Alley. Unknown dark magics had been released, though Aurors had been on the case immediately. No known cause of the fire was found.

Routine followed routine until Molly demanded the twins come home for dinner every night and sleep in their old beds. Everyone noticed the change, but no one did anything or seemed to know what to do, though Hermione watched with knowing eyes, waiting every night until Fred found his way home.

**

The next morning she opened Ginny’s door and stopped, surprised to see Fred leaning against the wall opposite. “Fred.”

“Angel.”

“You’re usually long gone by this time. What’s happened? Burned everything to the ground? Has it made a difference?”

“Come for a stroll.”

“I think not.”

“Oh, come on, Angel. Let’s talk culpability. Charmed coins for communication. Potions mixed in with liquor bottles?” He leaned forward, his eyes flashing. “Surely a stroll is worth all that?”

“Don’t alleviate your own misplaced guilt by fudging it off on me.” Hermione grasped the edges of her robe and pulled it tighter around her. “I’ve no desire to walk with you, Fred.”

“I think you’re lying, Angel.” He moved closer, crowding her as he’d done the night before. “I think you’ve plenty of desire where I’m concerned, even for all your fawning after Ron. I think you wait for me to stoke the fires before bed every night.” He caught her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “What kind of flames did I fan last night?”

“I’m sure you’ll have to check the papers this morning to answer that question.”

Fred shrugged and released her, though his eyes darkened. “So much for Gryffindor bravery.” He gave her a slow smile. “Ta, Angel.”

She watched him walk toward the stairs, shivering as he disappeared. Glancing back at Ginny’s room, she debated the warm cocoon of the bed or the hot beat of the shower. With a quick check of the stairway, she rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

**

He watched the building burn, the strange smoke gone green from the spells he’d cast. He knew he was being watched by dark eyes on both sides of the war, but he no longer cared The smoke boiled and popped and the hissing sound died. He saw Moody and Tonks and a few others from the Order and the Ministry gather on the edges, wands ready to combat anything he’d unleashed. He didn’t care what it was or what he’d done. He just wanted it all gone.

Some nights he stood outside the shop and stared at the signs in the window, at the products beyond. He knew them all by heart, though everything was recorded in their master book, but the spells and concoctions are in his memory. He had considered setting it ablaze as well, but Harry’s money and his mother’s pride are the only thing that stopped him. That and the knowledge that what was done was done and setting his lifelong dream up in flames wouldn’t change anything.

He just wouldn’t have proof that things had been good once upon a time.

**

“Hermione, dear?”

Hermione turned at Molly’s voice, surprised by the worried look in her eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Weasley?”

“Dear…I…” She fought back tears, turning her gaze away from Hermione. “I’ve had a bit of a talk with Remus, dear. He suggested perhaps that it’s best that you don’t wait up for Fred. Certainly not alone.”

“I’m not alone, Mrs. Weasley. George is always just right inside.”

“Yes, well.” The words seemed to hurt her throat. “I don’t know that George would be…in a state to…should…” She broke down, turning and falling into Arthur’s arms. Hermione let her gaze find his, shocked by the knowledge in them.

“George isn’t in any shape to deal with Fred, Hermione. And Fred’s not in any shape to be dealt with. Moody’s got an eye on him. You needn’t wait up any longer.” Pain lanced across his features. “He thinks he can…” He cleared his throat. “I know he’s just a lad, really, but I think it best that we give him some space.”

“Of course, Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur nodded and turned to guide Molly from the room. “Off to bed then, all right?”

She watched them go without promising, letting the conversation itself give them the answer they wanted to hear. As soon as their door was closed, she wandered into the room, leaning against the wall as she watched George pour a careful measure of whiskey into his glass.

“Not thinking of disobeying, are you?” George didn’t look up at her as he took his first sip. “Mum and Dad have treated you like family, and you’re just going to do exactly what they’ve asked you not to and trot out there and wait for Fred.”

“Aren’t you concerned for him?”

“No.” George took another drink, longer this time. “He’ll do what he needs to do no matter what I’ve decided.”

“And what is that?”

“Do you know, there was one time when Fred and I had been caught by Filch. He was furious, nearly foaming at the mouth. Dragged us by the ear to see Dumbledore. He was incensed and determined that the only thing we deserved was punishment from the highest ranks.” George drained his glass and closed his eyes. “Dumbledore, of course, found the whole thing bloody funny. Though he did remind us that what’s funny today isn’t always so amusing when it’s turned around against you. Said comedy was when it happened to someone else. Tragedy is when it happens to you.” He poured another glass. “Old bastard was wrong though. This isn’t a comedy or a tragedy.”

“What is it?”

His eyes were dark, reminding her for a moment of Fred’s. “Life.”

He turned back to the bottle and Hermione edged out of the room. She glanced back at the door to the Weasley’s bedroom, the soft sound of Molly’s crying seeping through the hewn planks of the door. She breathed a silent apology then went to the front porch, sitting on the top step.

She was nearly asleep when the crack of Apparition startled her. Her heart beat quickly as he stepped out of the shadows, not slowing even as she recognized him.

“Now, now.” He smiled, though there was nothing lighthearted in it. “Surely they’ve warned you off by now.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you’re still here. Perhaps I was wrong about you.”

“In what regard?”

“Perhaps you aren’t as intelligent as we’ve all given you credit for.” He watched her stand with predatory eyes. “Ickle Ronniekins isn’t going to appreciate you spending your nights out here with me. You’d best watch it or your best chance at marrying into our legacy will go up in a jealous rage.”

“Ron doesn’t have anything to be jealous of.”

“He doesn’t, does he?” Fred caught her jumper in one hand and pulled her to her feet, pulled her against him. His breath was hot on her lips as she gasped. “Surely you’re not that innocent, Hermione.”

“You’re…you’re the one,” she could barely breathe, the warmth of his body pressed hard against hers. “You’re the one calling me Angel.”

“How’d you like to fall?”

She didn’t have time to answer as his lips pressed hard against hers, his tongue snaking into her mouth. She gasped, opening herself up to him as he wound a hand into her thick hair, tightening his grip into a fist. He groaned low in his throat as his other hand curved around her waist, pulling her against him, his cock responding to the soft pressure of her flesh. Hermione shivered as he slipped one leg between hers and thrust his hips forward, his cock grinding against her thigh.

Fred broke the kiss before she could, sucking in the humid night air without releasing her. Hermione stared at him with wide eyes hazy with desire. His voice, when he spoke, was thick and husky. “You’d best run along, Angel, or you’re likely to not make it before I catch you.”

She nodded vaguely then turned, hurrying quickly through the door and up the stairs, vanishing from sight like a scared rabbit.

**  
He cared that Dumbledore was dead. It just wasn’t his death to avenge. He lit a fag and blew a coil of smoke into the dark sky and closed his eyes against the waxing moon. In three days it would be full, and in three days he had plans to carry out. His targets were set and once they were gone, perhaps he’d be dead himself, caught in the crossfire, or he could settle into a life of alcohol and despair alongside his twin.

Or maybe he’d spend the rest of his life chaining his older brother up like an animal and watch the beast try and claw its way out of him.

**

Hermione moved through the garden quickly, her book clenched to her chest. She’d avoided the family gathered for breakfast, unsure she could meet anyone’s faces. She kept her head down and wove through the fence into the thicket of trees, stopping suddenly as a pair of hands grabbed her upper arms.

“In a hurry, Angel?”

She looked up into Fred’s mocking gaze. “Just searching for some peace and quiet.”

“What’s the matter?” He leaned in and pushed her hair away from her face, his mouth close to her ear. His breath feathered over her skin and she shivered. “Need to be alone to scratch the itch I gave you last night?”

“The only thing you gave me last night, I’ll have you know, is a good reason to go to bed early.” He chuckled and she blushed, realizing how he’d taken her response. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Of course not.” He nipped at her earlobe then moved closer, his tongue dipping into the hollow beneath her ear. “You no doubt meant something terribly innocent. But you have to admit…” He trailed his tongue down her neck then retraced the path with nips and wet kisses. “My idea does have its merits.”

“I’ve no intention of letting you continue this, Fred Weasley.”

“Oh really?” He barely breathed the words as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, her hands fisted in his shirt and caught between them. “Then let me go.”

Hermione released her grip, her palms flat against the thin t-shirt pulled tight over his chest. She held his gaze, heat flooding through her as her hands, instead of moving away from him, slid up his chest and curved around his neck.

“Your halo’s slipping,” he moaned as her leg slid around both of his, the muscles of his arms tightening as he lifted her, centering the sweet heat of her just above his cock. Hermione’s mouth opened over his and he turned, taking a few steps to the side to one of the huge yews. He pushed her back against it, the vague rasping of her hair and her summer dress against the bark mingling in the air with her surprised moan.

“I’m not a bloody…” she paused long enough to bite his lower lip, forcing a hot moan from his mouth, “angel.”

He pushed her dress up her thighs, his rough, stained hands gliding up her pale skin. “Yes,” he groaned. “Only an angel could bring me down this low.” His hand slid higher until he found her knickers, tugging at the material until he could slip his fingers past it, thrusting them inside her wet heat. “Fuck.”

Hermione closed her eyes, shaking her head from side to side as his fingers pushed deeper inside her. Her heels dug into his arse, matching the thrusting motion of her hips that she was helpless to stop. Fred groaned and reached up with his free hand, letting the tree support her, pulling at the filmy fabric of her dress until the strap holding it up snapped and he freed her small, pert breast. Hermione keened softly to the morning light as he bit and sucked at her nipple, pushing down against his hand and he thrust his fingers deeper.

Her soft cry gave way to a guttural gasp as she came, her body clenching around his fingers, heat surrounding his flesh. He growled somewhere deep inside his chest and pulled back, lowering her to the ground and easing away from her. She fell back against the tree, clinging to it to remain upright as he smiled, lifting his fingers to his mouth. She watched him, her entire body shaking as he slid his fingers past his lips, sucking the taste of her off of them. She flinched as he reached out with his other hand and touched the air above her head. “Your halo’s a bit crooked, Angel.”

**

Smoke flushed back in his face and he coughed roughly. He could hear shouts in the distance as the flames licked higher into the sky. He recognized some of the voices as hooded figures slipped between the red and gold slivers of light. Classmates, some, and the staid figures that had haunted the periphery of his life, his father’s life in the Ministry.

Other voices echoed and the green light of spells filtered through the air as well. He smirked and lit a fag, inhaling a lungful of burning ash and burning embers as he watched. His pulse was loud in his ears as he heard the harsh gasp of an _Avada Kedavra_ cut off mid-spell and he wondered absently who had fallen and who had escaped.

He saw the gray hulk of a man hurl another of the Death Eaters out of his way. His heart beat faster and he knew without really knowing – no one spoke of it out loud, only behind closed doors where the looks at Remus became even more pitiful – that this was the man who had destroyed Bill. He made a noise, low and primal, and Fenrir turned to look at him with blood red eyes, stung with smoke.

Fenrir growled and started toward Fred, the sudden shift of the fire and falling wall of flame the only thing stopping him. Fred smiled at him through the burning planks and turned on his heel, disappearing into the thick gray of the night.

**

Molly stared at the stairs, her distraction plain in her face. She glanced toward the clock then back at the stairs until Hermione touched her gently on the shoulder. Molly jumped and backed away, towel in her hands as she swiped at the pristine counters. “Er, yes, Hermione. What is it, dear?”

“I could check on him for you.” Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears, and she hoped Molly wouldn’t notice the difference. “I know you’re worried…”

“He won’t talk to me at all,” Molly sighed, tears flooding her eyes. “He won’t talk to anyone.”

“Maybe he’ll talk to me,” Hermione assured her. She refused to allow herself to think of the heat pooling between her thighs as she smiled at Molly. “It’ll be all right, Mrs. Weasley. I’ll just…” She gestured toward the stairs then hurried up them without looking back. Heat flooded throughout her body, blushing across her face and filling her. Her breasts felt heavier as she reached the landing, her breathing labored.

She glanced behind her, knowing it was unnecessary – everyone, even George, even Bill, had dragged themselves outside in the sunshine after breakfast. She bit her lower lip and pushed the door open. She slid inside and closed the door, leaning against it as she stared at him, sprawled across his bed in nothing but a loose pair of shorts and a tangle of sheets. His erection strained against the material that had faded to gray. Hermione’s hand trembled as she locked the bedroom door and walked forward, heart beating hard and fast inside her chest.

She sat on the edge of the bed and clenched the sheet in one hand as the other reached out and stroked the dark red triangle of hair that began just below his navel. Fred moaned quietly and moved beneath the scratch of her fingernails, arching into her touch. Hermione swallowed hard and licked her lips then ran a single fingertip along the waistband of his boxers.

Her hand shook as she ran a path from hipbone to hipbone then back to the middle, hooking her finger beneath the elastic that clung loosely to his waist. She glanced down at his erection, thrusting insistently against the fabric, staining the gray to black. She eased it down, her breath shuddering out of her as she set it against the base of his cock, staring down at him.

Reaching out, she trailed her fingers down his shaft, gasping softly at the velvet smoothness of the skin. Hand shaking, she wrapped it around the foreskin, pulling it back to see the flushed smoothness of the head then without thinking began stroking the entire length slowly.

Fred’s body tensed beneath her hand, though his hips lifted as she used her free hand to push his shorts down farther. Tangling them against the sheet, around his knees, she cautiously touched his perineum and then his balls, gently cupping them in her hand. “You keep that up, Angel,” his voice was rough and gravelly, “your halo’s going to fall off completely.”

“I would think it’s already tarnished, wouldn’t you?”

“Nothing a little polishing wouldn’t cure.”

She glanced at him and met his lidded gaze with her own. “Polishing?” Her smile felt wicked as she bent her head, her tongue sliding over the head of his cock. “Is that the preferred euphemism is these days?”

His answer was lost in his thick groan as she lowered her head and took him in her mouth. She pulled back, overwhelmed with the salty-sweat taste of him and musky odor, the thick hardness of him, then leaned in again, sliding him along her tongue.

Fred wound his fingers through her hair and tugged, pulling her upward. His eyes were smoky as he looked at her. Hermione stared at him defiantly, her hand moving back to stroke along his length. He shuddered in her grip, closing his eyes as she lowered her head once more. She moved hesitantly, her hand and mouth struggling to find a rhythm as she licked and tasted him, her teeth occasionally bringing a sharp hiss to his lips as they scraped the sensitive flesh.

She shifted on the bed, changing her angle slightly, her knees on the mattress and her hands bracing her over his hips. Fred groaned again as she began moving faster, the curve of her mouth fitted over him, tightening around him. He ran a hand along her leg, slipping it beneath the skirt of her sundress and rubbing it over her arse. Hermione moaned around him and his hips jerked upward as the sound rumbled over his skin.

His nails scraped against the fabric of her knickers as she thrust back against his hand as she moved over him. His hips rocked in time with her mouth, pushing up to meet her as her lips closed around him. She whimpered softly and his hand fisted in her knickers as his hips rose off the bed and he came, his orgasm pushed and thrusting inside her.

She pulled back, eyes wide, as he came. Thick liquid painted her mouth and tongue and spilled over his stomach. She watched his body spasm as she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, swallowing instinctively and struggling to hide the shock of the taste as it slid down her throat.

Fred watched her with eyes she couldn’t read. “What’s the matter, Angel? Wings a bit singed?” He reached past her and pulled his shorts up, unmindful of the mess. “Better fly before you lose all your feathers.”

**

Fenrir’s house burned like nothing before.

He’d barely set the match to it when the dry timbers went up in orange flames and black smoke and red sheets of pure rage. He heard the wolf in the man as he howled, unable to find a way through. For the first time he used something other than just fire, and the stench of petrol fills the air. Wild eyes stared out at him through the flames and shouts of vengeance and revenge filled his ears.

He felt hands at his arms and let them pull him away. He didn’t care who had him, or why. He only felt the fire burn.

**

“Are you bloody mad?”

“You’ve given me the same refrain as everyone else, Angel.” He drawled the words as he stared up at his ceiling. “I would have at least thought that you’d come up with something new.”

“They didn’t find him, you stupid git.” She kicked the side of his bed. “You didn’t change anything for Bill and you didn’t kill him and now he’s going to be after you as well and did you just not think?”

“What’s thinking gotten you, eh?” He turned his head just enough to see her face flush. “We’re all still exactly where we were before Dumbledore’s death, before Bill. We’re still where we were last summer and the summer before that. Only know more people are dead.”

“But Fenrir Greyback’s not one of them, Fred.” She sank down onto the edge of his bed and touched his chest with hesitant fingers. “What happened to Bill…”

“You know nothing of what happened to Bill, so don’t pretend that you do.” His voice remained emotionless, but his eyes flashed at her.

“I don’t want it to happen to you. Or worse.”

“Worse? And tell me, Angel, what’s worse than a life caught between being human and being a werewolf? What’s worse than living your life knowing that you’ve caused it? What’s worse than…”

She leaned forward quickly and kissed him, her mouth moving over his easily. He growled and grabbed her, pulling her closer instead of pushing her away. She sprawled on top of him, hands clutching his shoulders as he pulled her down, one arm wrapping around her waist as the other fisted in her hair.

Hermione worked her hands up over his shoulders and slid them behind his neck as his tongue thrust into her mouth, tasting her. It slid over her tongue and around, sliding over surfaces with a sense of ownership. Hermione made a soft noise and he rolled them over, trapping her beneath him. His hips settled easily between her legs as she parted them for him, his hands bracing him over her. She let her hands fall back to his shoulders then slid them down his chest.

He stared down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable as she tugged at his t-shirt, pulling the material free from his jeans. He watched her as her hands slipped beneath the fabric and smoothed over his bare stomach, pushing the shirt up. Without a word, he pulled away, kneeling between her spread thighs and tugged his shirt over his head, throwing it aside. She shivered as he stilled, a slow, hungry smile spreading across his face.

“Your halo’s not going to save you this time.”

She swallowed as he lowered himself onto her. The muscles of his arms bunched and she reached up to touch them, feeling his heated skin as he thrust his hips, the thin, faded denim of his jeans slithering against the cotton of her dress. His smile widened as he closed the distance between them, his lips finding hers, claiming them. Her mouth opened beneath the onslaught of his lips and tongue, her hands leaving his arms to roam over the broad expanse of his chest and back.

He leaned closer, supporting himself on one arm as he reached between them and unfastened his jeans, pushing the material down as best he could. Hermione’s hands followed his lead, easing the denim over his hips. He bit her lip and she gasped, opening her mouth wider, allowing his tongue to plunder her, consume her. Her nails dug into his hips as she scraped against his skin, forcing his shorts down as well.

Fred groaned as he thrust against her again, her slip of a dress doing nothing to hide the heat growing between them. He pushed at her, the cotton clinging to her damp knickers as his cock slid between her parted legs. She released his hips to pull up her own dress, breaking his demanding kiss to gasp as his fingers tugged her knickers aside and he pressed the tip of his cock inside her.

He rocked slowly; penetrating her in shallow, steady thrusts. She fought for breath, gasping with every push until he stilled just at the level of her hymen. He bit her lip playfully then licked the site. “Ready, Angel?”

She didn’t get a chance to reply as he pushed inside her, a quick, hard thrust that sent slivers of pain throughout her body. She let out a quiet gasp that was almost a sob as the pain melted into liquid pleasure as he rocked slowly, easily, lazily against her hips. Her eyes opened and she stared up at him, scared and unsure.

He increased his speed, smiling as her hips rose to meet his instinctively. Hermione blinked rapidly, touching him with shaking hands as he continued thrusting. She fell into the rhythm dictated by his hips, slowly easing her legs around his, her bare skin sliding over the worn denim. He bent his head, the cloudiness of need in his eyes broken by the flames of desire as he lay on top of her, grasping her wrists with his hands and levering her arms above her head, holding her there, stretched beneath him.

Hermione moaned and struggled slightly, her responding thrusts growing wilder as she felt the edge of her climax building. Fred changed his pace, his longer thrusts shortening, hardening as he pushed faster and deeper into her. She sought his gaze as her body trembled, struggling against his hold, against him before crying out as her orgasm overtook her.

Fred groaned as her body tightened, heat exploding around his cock. He buried his head against her neck and sucked at the pale skin as he kept thrusting until his body matched her violent trembles and he came, buried deep between her parted thighs.

Hermione fought to catch her breath as his teeth nipped at her skin. She could feel the heat his mouth and tongue left behind as he pulled away. He disentangled himself from her and climbed off the bed, grabbing his t-shirt with the crook of one finger. He draped it over his shoulder and, pants still undone, headed for the door.

“Fred?”

Fred opened the door and looked back at her, his smile dangerous and vicious. He cocked an eyebrow as she looked past him to the sudden quiet of Ron, Ginny and Harry in the hallway, their eyes wide as they stared at her.

“It’s not the falling that’s hard, Angel.” He turned and brushed past his siblings and Harry. “It’s the landing.”

**

The moon was full and heavy in the sky. He stood outside the building and stared at his hands. The matchstick was thin and brittle, the red tip topped with a white circle that reminded him of the moon illuminating the old wood in front of him. He knew the Aurors were looking for Fenrir. He knew the Death Eaters were looking for him. But no one would look for him here.

He struck the match and smiled in its glow as he set it to the silvered wood of the porch then stepped back to watch the Burrow burn.  



End file.
